


The Agony of Circumstance [Indefinite Hiatus]

by elvenwinters (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, Friendly Bickering, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Memory Loss Recovery, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Romance, Slow Burn, Time Skips, coping after the war, draco's patronus reveal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28256820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/elvenwinters
Summary: “What were the last two years to you?”“The most important years of my life.”“Why? What happened?”"..."Harry loses all his memories of the two years following the war, and everything that he can’t remember is tearing Draco apart. A story of two people, of all of the words not spoken, of falling in love all over again.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. 12:12 A.M.

**Author's Note:**

> I know things feel really vague right now, but just give me a chance, yeah?

Harry strained against the rough ropes cutting into his wrists, hissing as he felt the skin tear. Uselessly, his head shook from side to side, as if that would loosen the dark blindfold that pressed against his eyes. 

_Where was he? Where was he?_

He felt blood soak into his hair and the blindfold, felt it dripping off of his nose and onto his pants as he leaned his head forward. Strangely, annoyance prickled under his skin, rather than terror. 

_Blasted ropes._ They had also taken his wand. Harry didn’t know who ‘ _they’_ was, but he wanted them to show their faces, so he could see who had dared to touch a single hair on the head of the savior of the wizarding world. He smirked, despite the grim situation, and mentally scolded himself at allowing his ego to blow up so much. 

Well, it wasn’t all his fault. Everything that Draco muttered under his breath when he thought Harry wasn’t listening must have gone to his head.

Speaking of Draco… Surely he had noticed that someone had practically cracked Harry Potter’s skull open and kidnapped him right off the streets of London? Harry felt himself pout, and, suddenly embarrassed, shook the thought from his head.

What was he thinking? He’d gotten kidnapped, for Merlin’s sake. 

Honestly, though, after Voldemort, Harry didn’t think anything else could scare him. If anything, the kidnappers were probably some crazy fangirls who wanted to see his face in real life again. It wouldn’t be the first time. Bound and blindfolded, just like before. Though he didn’t remember so much _blood_ being everywhere. And the fangirls would’ve been squealing, trying to talk to him, and taking pictures, not… 

Harry swallowed thickly, suddenly anxious. Why was it so silent? It felt like he was the only one in the room, but why would the kidnappers leave him alone? He tapped the floor, and his feet fell on cold, unforgiving stone. Stone?

 _What a poor choice. I’d prefer wooden floors, personally. Much sleeker and nicer._ Harry forced a small laugh, but his blood froze into his veins at his next realization. No shoes. They took his shoes off.

 _Why, to satisfy their foot fetishes? Nasty buggers,_ Harry thought, firmly refusing to follow the darker train of thought. 

_It doesn’t matter._

And it didn’t. It wasn’t as if his life was at risk.

 _And Draco will come_ , Harry consoled himself. _Draco will come, Hermione’ll probably have another heart attack, and Ron’ll probably piss his pants laughing…_

 _They took my shoes because they_ knew _Draco had put a spell on them to track my location._

 _No way._ Clenching his hands into fists, Harry grit his teeth. No, it couldn’t be true. How could they know that? It was a complicated spell. No casual _Specialis Revelio_ would have revealed the spell’s presence. _No way._ _They took my shoes because without them, I can’t run away as easily. That’s just simple kidnapper logic._

_Where were his shoes?_

“‘Course we knew about the tracking spell. You think we’re dense?” A bright, lilting voice spoke suddenly, a sharp contrast with the crushing sense of doom that seemed to twist apart Harry’s heartstrings at the words. Panic clutched at his insides, scratching long gashes into his ribs, wailing, wailing. 

“That’s a better expression,” another smug voice noted. “I hated seeing that smirk on his face. As if he’d gotten the best of us. I wanted to just—”

Pain exploded on Harry’s right cheek, and he cried out, startled. He heard snickering, and fury bubbled in the pit of his stomach. 

“—slap it off his pretty little face.”

Harry held his tongue, trying to figure out more about the people who were keeping him captive. Surely, if it was silent, they would feel obligated to fill that silence.

Like the universe was trying to prove him wrong, the air became heavy and cold, as if no one but Harry had step foot into this room in a thousand years. How had they erased their presence so easily? He couldn’t hear a single rustle or click over the rush of blood in his ears.

“What are we waiting for?” The brighter voice spoke again. “I don’t see the point of waiting until 12:12 to—”

“Shh! Don’t spoil the surprise!” the other voice snapped, agitated. A wheezing, rasping laugh sounded, and Harry cringed inwardly. “Twelve is the perfect number, friend. Twelve months in a year, twelve numbers on a clock. Three is the number of magic, and four is the number of death. The Asians in the east say that, they do. Three times four is twelve. Death of magic, magic of death. ‘Of’ means multiply, multiply. Three times four is twelve. Didn’t you pay attention in your arithmetic classes?”

The voice said this all in almost just one breath, words rushing out in a torrent, cascading and swirling in Harry’s head, as if someone had uncorked a bottle of wine and poured all of its contents down the side of a skyscraper.

“You’re insane.” There was an indignant shriek, and a dull thud, like one of them had punched the other. “Who the hell even thinks about it that much? Your obsession has nothing to do with arithmetic, you wanker.”

They started arguing loudly, and Harry shut his eyes under the blindfold. Despite how they sounded, Harry knew that he was in trouble. He couldn’t say the wrong thing right now. He couldn’t afford to make a smart-aleck comment that might get him killed. The only people capable of detecting such a spell were brilliant witches and wizards. Or people that practiced darker magic, people that were—

“Death Eaters! Or, we’re not really called that anymore,” the brighter voice said, sounding a bit more unhinged, each syllable harshly enunciated. “What do we even call ourselves now? We forgot to come up with a name. We can’t call ourselves the Death _Regurgitators_.” The voice started laughing maniacally, and Harry knew that it was the most disturbing sound he had heard since the end of the war, two years back.

“That wasn’t even funny.” The smug voice shifted, and now spoke in an irritating drawl, eerily familiar, too similar to—

“Oh, you think he sounds like Draco, huh? He’s a sweet boy, wish he was here.”

Huh?

“Yes, we tried our best to imitate it. It’s no fun if you recognize us off the streets of London with our voices and report us to the Ministry, is it?”

How were they—

“But I guess my voice doesn’t really sound like Mudblood Granger. Is it a couple keys too high?” A small cough, then— “Harry, what are you doing here?”

Harry felt a shudder rip through his body. It was spot on. How were they doing that? And they seemed to be reading his m—

“Oh, yes. We’re reading your mind.” The fake-Draco voice spoke, and Harry squirmed uncomfortably. “Not telling you how, obviously, but I’ll let you know that it’s a form of Legilimency.” 

The voice dropped to a whisper. “Isn’t it incredible? We’re, quite literally, reading your thoughts. And I’ve got to say, your handwriting is absolutely _awful_ when you get agitated.”

Harry’s head spun. He was feeling dizzy from blood loss, and he didn’t understand what they were saying, what was going on. Why was he even here?

“ _Harry_ ,” crooned the fake-Draco voice, and Harry’s rage burst into flames and scorched the inside of his lungs. 

“You do _not_ ,” Harry finally choked out, his throat as dry as sawdust, “get to say my name. Not with his voice. Not with your own. Not now, not ever.”

The fake-Hermione voice screeched with joy, giggling gleefully. “He speaks! Well _done_ , friend!”

“Thank you, thank you.” Harry couldn’t stand the smirk that was working its way into the fake-Draco voice. He wanted more than anything to rip them both into pieces, and he trembled with fury. With all the wandless magic he could muster, he tried to focus enough to snap the ropes, but before he could do so, a staggering blow hit him in the stomach, knocking him and the chair he was tied to over onto his back. 

Harry cried out hoarsely, gasping for breath. The bones in his hands felt as if they were being crushed. _Right. They know when I’m trying to do wandless magic. They can read my thoughts._

“Correct! If you try to escape again, we’ll cut off your legs!” the fake-Hermione voice sounded shriller than ever, and Harry tried his best to think about nothing.

“It’s 12:05! Only seven minutes left!”

“Why am I even here,” mumbled Harry, wild adrenaline coursing through his every nerve. He hadn’t felt this terrified since the war, and the full-blown force of it after two years of relative peace felt like it would simply stop his heart.

There was a small pause, then a loud whisper. “Just tell him. It’s not like he’s going to remember this anyway. Besides, I want to see his reaction.”

“ _You_ tell him! You’re the one that has his boyfriend’s fucking voice!”

“Eugh. Don’t say ‘boyfriend,’ it makes me feel disgusting.” Even though Harry knew the voice was just an imitation, he still felt a sting of hurt in his chest. Then anger and embarrassment flared up again as the two voices howled with laughter. _Fuck whatever form of Legilimency they’re using._

"Okay, hurry up and explain," the fake-Hermione voice snickered. "Potter's absolutely hilarious, but we need to move along."

“Okay, okay. Potter, you listen to me, now, like a good boy.” The fake-Draco voice seemed to move closer to Harry, whose back was still on the ground from being knocked over. The chair was grabbed roughly, and Harry’s head snapped back as someone yanked the chair upright, swinging him forward. He couldn’t even feel his hands anymore. 

“I don’t think our little Golden Boy has any _fucking_ idea how miserable our lives got after you killed You-Know-Who. Our entire world got flipped upside down. We lost family, lost our household, lost every single thing that’s been in our pureblood generations for centuries.” Harry drowned out the voice, the whole time thinking _not Draco, not Draco, not Draco, not Draco._

“My parents went to Azkaban, lost their minds. Don’t know if I’ll ever see them again. Mummy and daddy of our friend over there got brutally torn into shreds by the Ministry, in front of her eyes. Just ‘cause they tortured some Mudbloods. They were just some fuckin’ Mudbloods, don’t see how that was even a big deal. They said it was 'a tragic accident due to high on-site tension during capture’ but it just all sounds like _bullshit_ to me.”

_Not Draco, not Draco, not Draco, not Draco._

“And this time, it’s all your fault. It’s actually your fault. You’d think the great Harry Potter would be a tad bit more sympathetic towards Death Eaters, considering his _boyfriend_ is one of them.”

“No,” Harry muttered, before he could stop himself. “I don’t think so. Not ‘is’ one. Used to be. And you still are.” 

Harry braced himself for another blow or kick as soon as he squeezed out those words, but the voice seemed to have been stunned into silence.

“ _Are you saying we deserved everything that happened to us?_ ” The imitation of Draco cracked for a moment, and Harry caught a hint of the real voice of his captor. It sounded completely different, and Harry couldn’t believe how much he had changed his voice to sound like Draco. In a split second, the voice composed itself and slapped Harry so roughly across the face that the force of it seemed to travel into his spine, his neck feeling mangled and broken.

“Anyway, we fucking hate you. We’d love to kill you, but figured this would be much worse. Finding where you even disappeared off to after the war took so long, it was just _infuriating._ ”

The voice fell silent, and Harry strained to hear something, anything. If only he could _see_...

“I’ll tell you a secret. We were the most skilled in Legilimency, Occlumency, and memory tweaking under the Dark Lord. That’s quite the title, you know. Even after the Dark Lord passed, we never stopped devising ways to apply our talents, and we will suck all of the memory, _every_ single memory that you ever had, out of your head.

“Brain’ll be dry as a desert! It’s a shame though, since we did have to try a few hundred times to get it right, so now there’s just about a few hundred half-crazies running around in England. Of course, you won’t remember me telling you this when you actually come across one of ‘em later on.” The fake-Draco voice laughed lowly and without humor. 

_Fuck!_

“So why don’t you just kill me, again?” Harry fought to keep his voice even, trying to hide the fact that he was scared out of his mind.

“That’s what I’ve been asking! If we hate the damn fucker so much, why aren’t we just slaughtering him on the spot?” The words sounded strange being spoken through Hermione’s voice, since Harry knew she would never speak with so much venom, so much _malice_ , towards him.

There was a small sigh, a scrape of a chair, and a rustling of robes as someone sat down. “I’ve said this already, but it looks like you’re not convinced. I’ve got half a damn mind to _Avada Kedavra_ you on the spot, you worthless piece of shit. So fucking _listen_ so I don’t have to repeat myself ever again.” The fake-Draco voice shifted again, sounding less like Draco and more like a rough replica of his tone, and Harry felt like he could breathe a little better.

“Poor Mr. Potter here has suffered a great deal, yes. Some of his friends are not in this world anymore. Many of them, dare I say.”

 _Inhale, exhale._ Harry felt his eyes burning. 

“All he has of them are his memories. All he has. Imagine how distressed he must eventually feel, when all of these people out there are shouting his name, and he has no idea what he did. Imagine Malfoy’s fucking face for a minute, friend. That bloody traitor would die inside.”

_Not Draco!_

“We take his memories, and it’d be just as effective as killing him. And killing part of every person that ever knew him. All the while, poor Mr. Potter wouldn’t even remember his own name, and imagine how _torturous_ it would be! Someone would say ‘Lily and James Potter,’ and he’d say, _‘who?’_ ”

“Alright, that’s fucking enough.”

All of the strength left Harry’s legs in shock, and he started sobbing uncontrollably, relief wracking through his body as Draco’s voice sounded, harsh with fury, from across the room. He felt disoriented, mind spinning, and he wasn’t sure where Draco’s voice had come from, but he was _here_. Harry cried shamelessly, tears streaming down from under his blindfold, and his chest heaved, air feeling too sharp inside his lungs.

A voice spoke in his ear. 

“Just kidding.” The voice was quiet, but gleeful, and it was halfway between Draco’s voice and the other voice that he _did not recognize._

“Your boyfriend isn’t here, sorry. I don’t think I mentioned that our dear other friend—you can call her Hermione, if you wish, before you forget about her completely—she makes an even better Draco Malfoy than I do. A surprise, just for you, so you can hear his voice one last time. It’s 12:12, after all.”

And Harry’s heart broke neatly in two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Erin here. If you're reading this right now, thank you so much. You have no idea how grateful I am.  
> This idea originally sprung out of a small, silly little one-word prompt that I did on Tumblr, then became this huge project in which I'm constantly thinking "oh god oh god I don't know if I can pull this off" but! Here we are.  
> My tumblr is @elvenwinters if you'd like to talk!  
> -Erin xxx


	2. Shoes

“Um, what the fuck?”

Draco frowned and dissolved the spell that was pointing him towards the tall oak tree. He took a hesitant step forward, and the grass in the field rustled softly under his shoes.

“That makes no sense,” he muttered. Then, louder— “Harry, are you.. in the tree?”

“Draco,” Pansy sighed. “Are you sure you cast the spell right?”

The day was hazy, overcast, and it seemed as if rain would start sprinkling down any second. Pansy stood stiffly to his left, her long black skirt rippling in the wind. Clearly, she was regretting agreeing to come with Draco.

Draco fought back the urge to snap out a biting remark. “Yes, Pansy. This isn’t my first time, so stop treating me like an amateur.”

“So when was the first time, then?” Pansy suddenly smirked, and Draco rolled his eyes. “Are you referring to the first time you told him about the spell last year, or when you spent countless sleepless nights back in sixth year designing a whole new spell and making a magical breakthrough just to keep tabs on Potter so you could accidentally pick a fight with him, all while _pining_ the whole goddamn time?”

“Pansy, _stop_.” Heat rushed into Draco’s face, and he coughed slightly, trying to hide his embarrassment. He pointedly ignored the victorious look in Pansy’s eyes. “I was trying to say that I didn’t mess up. The spell is saying he’s somewhere up in that tree, but I don’t see why…”

“Maybe it’s just his shoes that are up there.”

“No, Harry wouldn’t do that. He knows how important it is, and how important he is to me—” Draco abruptly cut his sentence off, ears burning fiercely as Pansy looked stunned, then burst into laughter. 

“Oh _Merlin_ , Draco,” Pansy gasped, fluttering her eyelashes dramatically. “I knew you were obsessed with Potter, but I didn’t think him confessing his feelings back to you would turn you into this blubbering idiot, you absolutely _hopeless_ romantic.” 

“I second Pansy. Do try to control yourself, will you?” a pained voice said from behind him, and Draco whipped around, feeling twenty times more self-conscious. “Harry can’t go ten minutes without saying something about you and I _really_ hoped you wouldn’t be the same way, but here we are.”

“Ron!” Hermione scolded, smacking him lightly on the arm. “You can’t say that. They’ve been miserable, trying to catch each other’s attention for—ah, this year makes it ten years, right? What did you even expect now that they’re actually dating?”

“ _Stop!_ ” Draco shrieked, and glared darkly at them as Ron snickered and Hermione feigned innocence. “Can we please focus on the matter at hand?”

Ron’s expression fell, and he shook his head slightly. “Oh. Right. We couldn’t find any magical trace of him where we looked. I don’t really understand what’s going on.”

A cold wind whistled down Draco’s back, playing his spine like a glass flute. His eyes darted towards his wand, which still sparked and shivered, insisting that Harry--or was it just Harry’s shoes?--was in the oak tree.

“ _Accio Harry Potter's shoes!_ ”

The tree branches rustled, and a pair of worn, brown leather shoes flew into Draco’s outstretched hands. Silence hung in the air, brooding and oppressive.

“There’s a note,” Pansy said softly.

And there was a note. Crinkled at the edges, worn yellow paper. Folded hastily into fourths, uneven sides. Fear reared its ugly head, and for a moment, Draco was terrified of the message he would see. 

Pansy took the note out of his trembling hands, and patted Draco’s arm.

“I’ll read it, hm?”

And because she was Pansy, Draco didn’t utter a single word of protest.

Pansy unfolded the note quickly, carelessly. Her eyes flicked to the left of the paper, then right. As if it was a grocery list, or a short reminder written in fragments, in scrawled handwriting.

“There’s coordinates. It says to be there by 12:30 A.M., tonight.”

Draco could barely speak. “What else?”

Pansy hesitated. 

“What _else_ , Pansy?”

“It says, if we come any earlier or later than 12:30, they’ll kill him. Harry Potter.”

Draco sunk to his knees, a strangled cry wrenching itself out of his throat. “Motherfuckers,” he snarled. “ _Bloody fucking pieces of shit!_ ”

“Don’t be dramatic. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Ron commented, his voice surprisingly light. “They gave us coordinates and a fucking time, and they’re expecting to stay hidden?”

Pansy lifted Draco to his feet roughly. “Draco, stop sulking. We’re not going to let some rat bastards kill Harry. Granger, locate the coordinates and track all of the magical currents within a fifty kilometer radius. I would ask for a hundred, but I think that’s a bit excessive.”

“Parkinson, don’t you worry about me,” Hermione scoffed, tossing her hair back. “I can manage a hundred kilometers, easy.”

“Weasley, you work in the goddamn Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry.”

“Right.”

“Somehow we weren’t able to scrape four brain cells together to get the Aurors involved, but I don’t think I have to tell you to gather the most competent Aurors to scour the area surrounding the coordinates, do I?”

Multiple cracks reverberated through the air, signaling the Apparition of several people, and Pansy grinned. “One step ahead of me, hm?”

“Always was, always will be, Pansy.” Ron grinned back at her, then turned towards the newly arrived Aurors, who looked slightly disgruntled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> I apologize for the ridiculously short chapter, and I think I'm going to have to put this story on indefinite hiatus. Unfortunately, I have no good excuse, and I simply don't feel the drive to complete this. My apologies.  
> I'm glad you were here, nevertheless. 
> 
> All the best,  
> Erin xxx


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